In Your Heart and Mind
by gallifyres
Summary: A collection of one-shots and short stories featuring our favorite characters during and after the war.
1. 40 Years Later

**This is me trying my hand at a post-war oneshot collection for Harry Potter.**

 **While I dearly love the series, and would love to have the same talent JKR has for writing, I do not own any of the characters in this fanfiction.**

 **Please review! It helps me become a better author.**

 **Thanks.**

* * *

 **Forty Years Later**

Harry sat in his comfy chair by the fire in his house in Upper England, drinking tea with Ginny, and watching his grandson play on the rug. As he drank, he thought. He had had a pretty successful career in the Ministry, working with his team of Aurors, driving out whatever was left of the Dark wizards and witches and putting them in Azkaban.

For the past few years, there had been peace in the world. He and his family-Ginny, James, Albus, and Lily had lived happily. All three of his children had graduated from Hogwarts as Gryffindors, and two out of three had been made prefects. They would never hesitate to visit Ron, Hermione, Rose, and Hugo as well as the rest of the Weasleys.

For a while, Harry had kept his family, but more importantly, he loved them with all his heart and soul, because, as he had learned, love was the most powerful magic of all.

He never revealed to his children the real name of Voldemort, or the true tale of the defeat of the Darkest Wizard in history, trying to protect them from the horrors of the past.

Harry tried to keep all those who had died in the two Wizarding Wars... Lily and James... Cedric... Sirius... Dumbledore... Dobby...Fred...Snape... Remus and Dora... It was to painful to remember the people who had cared for The Boy Who Lived, to painful to remember the fact that they had given their lives for Harry and to defeat Lord Voldemort.

Sometimes, he still had nightmares of their deaths.

 _"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry! Not Harry, please, kill me instead!"_

 _"Harry, take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my father."_

 _"Come on, you can do better than that!"_

 _"Severus...please."_

 _"Dobby is happy to be with his friend, Harry Potter."_

 _"You actually are joking, Perce, I don't think I've heard you joke since you were-"_

 _"Look...at...me."_

He kept his children happy, trying to give them the childhood that he had never had.

Harry smiled, his green eyes still as startling, bright, and exactly as almond shaped as Lily Evans' and his second child. Time had flown by. It had only seemed like yesterday that he held baby James in St. Mungo's, put Albus onto the Hogwarts train for his first year, and bought Lily her wand and other school supplies in Diagon Alley. All of it had passed so quickly that he wondered if he had used a Time-Turner. Now, he watched James' and his wife, Amanda's first son play with his toy broomstick. They hadn't changed much from when he had gotten his first broomstick 39 years ago from his godfather.

Harry watched his little grandson play and eat the candies. But then he saw something in front of his very eyes that made his blood run cold and his scar tingle slightly, something it hadn't done in 40 years.

His one year old grandson crushed his Chocolate Frog in a bout of unexpected anger. The card, which was of Albus Dumbledore, glanced up at Harry and gave a small, sad smile, still the energetic man Harry had once known, but then just diving right out of sight as pieces of chocolate came flying his way. The boy, named Tom, looked up at his grandfather, and Harry was slightly surprised to see the cold intelligence in the young child's gray eyes, as well as a hint of scarlet.

Harry saw this, and, knowing that all good things must come to an end, knew that the entire Wizarding World would darken for generations to come again.


	2. All Alone

**Hey guys! It's Maia, back again with another oneshot for my collection.**

 **This one's centered around... you know what? I'll let you figure it out for yourself.**

 **While I would love to be able to work the magic that JKR has with words and storytelling, I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters.**

 **Enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review, follow, or favorite. :)**

* * *

 **All Alone**

 _ **May 2, 1998**_

She walked through the chaotic battle, not noticing anything around her surroundings. Not noticing the dead bodies littering the area around her feet, the pools of blood the same color of her swaying hair, or the thrown curses shooting back and forth. No, all that she could realize was that she was alone. Her best friend and her brother missing, where have they gone? And her long-time crush, gone, Merlin knows where.

She was all alone. Not for the first time.

She kept on walking, until she noticed silence. She ran out to the courtyard with the rest of Hogwarts, still searching the crowd for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. It wasn't until a few seconds that she realized what everyone was staring at. They were watching what seemed to be a black sea, going all the way to the Forbidden Forest. And in the lead, a strangely familiar, tall figure, being guided by a pale, snake-like face.

 _You-Know-Who._

He had come at last. But why? And what was the large figure carrying in his arms, cradling it like a delicate, broken doll?

It wasn't until Hagrid dropped the body to the ground; gently, lovingly, that she realized what it was.

Or should she say, _who_ it was.

It was Harry, his eyes gently closed over the face of Death's victory. It all hit her now: she would never see his emerald eyes again; never see them search her face for answers, for support, for love. He was dead. It was the cruel truth-but he was dead.

Why? That was the question that pounded in her head as she stared. She simply stared, because she couldn't do anything more. Not for now, no, everything was as stuffed up as the day she had first met The Boy Who Lived. But that day had been pure bliss. This day? _The total opposite,_ she thought without humor.

Then the emotions suddenly rushed up, all at once-he was gone. Never to be seen again, perhaps rejoicing with his parents and Fred and the countless others who had gone. It all welled up in her in one single scream.

"NO!"

She heard Hermione and Ron's voices too - good, they were alive-but all she could think was that her love was _dead_.

" ** _NO_! _HARRY_!** "

She screamed his name like a terrible curse, with enough loss to shatter any stone, but uttered it like a spell that would fix everything. It did not good-for the first time in her life, magic _didn't work._

 _H_ ow _could he do this to her? How could_ anyone _?_

As the Dark Lord began to talk, she broke inside. She hated the world, hated it for letting Harry and her other loved ones die, hating it for letting You-Know-Who win, hating herself for not having prevented it. Tears fell from the deep brown eyes, rolling down her face, making splashes on the cold, hard, dusty and grimy ground below her feet.

She did not listen. She couldn't. All she could do was stare at his skinny frame, missing everything that the world had taken. There was no use in fighting anymore, what they had been fighting for had gone.

She raised up her head, body hunched over, no longer the proud fighter that she was a few moments ago. Her fiery hair seemed to have lost its noticeable hue, and the eyes of the girl were drained, emotionless, and simply tired.

It wasn't until she heard Neville draw a sword and chop something off that she moved again.

She moved because his body was no longer there.

As everyone rushed to the ensuing battle, she allowed herself one small smile, looking beautiful, a warrioress bathing in the silver light of the moon, her normally calm brown eyes full of fire, and her scarlet hair flying behind her.

Just like the avenging heroine she had only dreamed of being.

If he wasn't there, it might mean he was still here, still living, still fighting, still breathing.

Ginny ran off with her wand drawn, ready to take on new foes, with a new burning desire, for an entirely new reason.

 _There was still someone worth fighting for._


	3. War and Sun

**I've got an update.**

 **This one is on Hermione, musing on some thoughts after the Battle of Hogwarts.**

 **As always, please review.**

 **I own nothing.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **War and Sun**

 **Hermione hadn't noticed how brightly the sun shone.**

After everyone had pulled back from Harry, after he had finally ended it all, and after Harry had disappeared, she finally had the time to _relax._ The months and years of fear had ended, and it was like a veil dissipating over the heads of the survivors.

 _The survivors._

She twisted, only to see that Ron was not by her side. Instead, as she had assumed, he was by his family, all hugging each other. She could see Mrs. Weasley quietly sobbing into Percy's arm; no doubt, George's death was something that she would be guilty about for a long time.

Not just George: but also Remus and Dora; for Dumbledore, Dobby: for **everyone** who had lost their lives in the name of defeating evil.

What was left of her heartstrings broke at Fred's face. Not just Fred, but Ron, Ginny, Percy, Bill, and Charlie, and Molly and Arthur. It was clear this would take a long time to recover from.

Perhaps there were some things that you could _never_ recover from.

It was survivor's guilt, she knew, but as Hermione looked around at the families, both joyful and grieving, she thought that war was exactly like the sun.

The sun was bright and beautiful; shedding light into dark times. It was the joy of knowing that Good had won over Evil.

Yet the sun was also cruel; abrasive, burning, fiery. It left scars on your skin. Much in the same way, the deaths of these in the Battle would leave wounds, she knew, pains that would never _truly_ heal.

Hermione thought, though, that the thing about the Sun was that it came up each day. No matter what happened around it, the Sun rose each day, shedding its warmth to Earth.

Maybe today's sunrise could represent a new day; a new life; a new world for wizards and witches alike.

It would be a world that she would work to make equal for all magical kind.

Hermione was determined to make her mark upon this world.

And so she rose, joining the Weasleys, making a promise to herself.

 _I will ensure that_ nothing, not one thing, _will ever tear_ _another family apart again._


	4. Chocolate and Parchment: Part I

**This is the first section to a little multi-part story involving James Sirius and the Marauders' Map.**

 **I own absolutely nothing.**

 **Please review, favorite, and follow!** **Thanks!**

* * *

 **Chocolate and Parchment: Part I**

 **"Al! Shut up, will you?"**

James' younger brother (albeit only by two years, but it mattered a lot to an eight year old like James) glared at him, his green eyes slightly hurt.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just-"

"What are you doing, if I may ask? Are you causing _more_ mischief around here? You know Mum and Dad would not appreciate-in fact, I know that they'd _disapprove_ of that sort of behaviour."

James grinned. Despite only being 6, Albus had an extensive vocabulary and liked to use them to impress his eight-year-old brother. James suspected Rose teaching Albus.

"If you really want to know, I'm just going to poke around in Dad's study. Nothing too bad," said James with the slightest hint of mischief in his voice.

In reality, he wanted a Chocolate Frog or a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. He already asked his mum, but Ginny had said no.

 _Ugh. Adults._

"Oooh! Can I come with you? Pleeeeease?" pleaded Al, all pretenses of advanced vocabulary disappearing in a nanosecond.

James sighed with the impatience of an older brother. Plus, if he and Al got caught, he knew he would be in trouble.

Still, it could be an adventure. James liked adventures a little (a lot) more than Chocolate Frogs.

"All right then. But if we get caught, it'll be _your_ fault," James said, shaking a finger at his brother.

They crept along the corridor, only pausing at their parents' room to check that Ginny and Harry weren't there.

Finally, as the two tiptoed down the stairs and into Harry's study, James let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Al?"

"Huh?" James' brother was currently staring at the Wizarding photographs of their grandparents they had never known. The pretty red-haired lady and the man with round glasses waved at the two boys. As Al turned towards him, James saw the lady whisper into her husband's ear. She looked back and smiled a sad, but yet happy smile.

James looked towards his brother.

"Al, listen to me. You're going to keep watch, all right? Just stand by the door and make sure Mum or Dad or even Lily doesn't come in here."

"Oookay," replied Albus, who was currently staring at two other pictures. One frame contained an extremely old man with half-moon spectacles, a crooked nose, silvery beard and hair, and piercing blue eyes. James felt as if the man was looking through the picture and into James' mind.

It didn't seem possible, but once you've lived eight years with magic, you learn to never question the strange.

The picture beside the old man was of a house-elf with very large, luminous green eyes, and enormous ears. The elf saw him looking, and gave a timid little smile and wave.

James returned the wave and turned his attention towards his dad's desk.

Harry's desk had many drawers. Parchment was cluttered all over the wood and near the end of the desk were a ruffled-looking eagle quill and a bottle of ink. There was also a little thin thing that his dad had called a "ballpoint pen". James supposed that it was a Muggle device.

James quickly lifted the papers up and checked under it.

 _Nope. No sweets there_.

He pulled open a few drawers.

 _No sign of the familiar wrappings there. Darn._

James quickly rummaged through a few more cabinets and still found no sweets. Slightly disappointed, he turned towards Al before something caught his eye.

In one of the middle drawers, sticking out, was a piece of parchment.

James hurried over to the drawer and picked it out slowly, as not to tear the page.

Why would this piece of parchment be by itself in its own separate drawer? James knew that his father had a specific drawer for parchment; he had already looked through it. Although Harry had a tendency to be messy, James knew that his mum and Aunt Hermione made sure that everything was organized.

Shrugging, James took the parchment; it looked quite old and was starting to yellow and curl at the edges. Despite the clear age of the paper, there wasn't so much as a blot of ink on the surface. He was sure it was _nothing_ special, and his father wouldn't mind.

What he didn't let himself think was that something about the parchment drew James towards it.

"Come on, then, Al. I've found nothing cool," James said, stuffing the parchment away in his robes.

"But I have! Look, James, I found some sweets! I got enough for both of us!"

James smiled. So the sweets had been on the shelves, not in the desk itself.

Well, the adventure had gotten him more than he expected: sweets _and_ the mysterious parchment.

"Let's leave, Albus, before Mum or Dad think anything's wrong," urged James.

As quiet as mice, the pair walked back to their rooms, where Al gave James half of the sweets. Inside his room, James hid the parchment under a loose floorboard, just as he heard his mum calling.

"James!"

"Yes, Mum?" James answered, sticking his head out of the door, his heart beating quickly. He was sure he was in for it this time.

But it was only,

"Reckon you're up for some Quidditch with Al and Rose? Me and Dad can teach you some tricks with your new broom."

For the second time that day, James let out a breath.

"Mum?"

"Hmm?"

"D'you think that we can have a picnic while we play Quidditch?"

There was no reply from his mum for a few moments.

She finally answered, "Yes, why not? I'll let Aunt Mione know. We'll bring along some snacks and have a picnic of sorts down by your cousins' field. I'll get the Floo ready."

James quickly agreed.

"Don't forget your broom!" called Ginny.

A few minutes later, James was ready, hoisting his broom over his shoulder. Before leaving, he checked the floorboard to make sure his mum or dad wouldn't suspect anything. Satisfied, he closed the door behind him, and ran with his family to play some well-earned Quidditch.

* * *

 _A/N: Expect the next part to be posted in a few days._


	5. Chocolate and Parchment: Part II

**This is a follow-up chapter the first installment of "Chocolate and Parchment."**

 **It also focuses around James Sirius, and takes place three years after Part I.**

 **I own absolutely nothing.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **~Maia**

* * *

 **Chocolate and Parchment: Part II**

 _Three years later_

James Sirius Potter stared at the sleek wand in the box. Once they had reached home from Diagon Alley, he'd begged his mum to let him peek at the wand, to see it, to use it, to hold it, to _be in connection_ with the wand. James knew that the wand was the most defining part of a magical person: it was the wizard's tool, and he wanted so desperately to hold the one that had chosen him in Ollivanders' that day.

Finally, alone in his room, he had a chance to examine it.

Mr. Ollivander was getting on in his years, but was still strong enough to sell James the wand.

He gently lifted it out of its velvet lining, and remembered Mr. Ollivander's words.

* * *

" _No, no, dear me, no, that one won't do."_

 _After James had made several shelves of parchment crash and burn with the nine-inch walnut wood, phoenix feather core wand, Mr. Ollivander snatched the wand out of his hand and gently placed it back into the box._

"Reparo," _Mr. Ollivander muttered, vaguely waving his wand at the broken shelves, putting the pieces back together, as he stood on the ladder and searched for a new wand box. "_ Aguamenti," _he said again, making jets of water pour out from his wand, effectively dousing the flames. "And_ Tergeo _," he finished off, siphoning the water off the floor._

 _Behind James, his father squeezed his shoulders. "Don't worry," he whispered into his ear. "He's always like this."_

 _James didn't know what to think of this, so he nodded, curiously watching the wandmaker's strange antics._

 _Mr. Ollivander finished rummaging through the shelves and pulled out another box._

" _What about this one, eh? Dogwood, dragon heartstring core, 10 inches flat. Fairly sturdy with a preference towards Charms. I think that this one will be right for you. Give it a wave."_

 _James eagerly took the wand out of the old man's hands. Immediately, his hand and the wood of the wand began to warm to each other. He waved it around._

" _Ah! Yes! Very good!" cried Mr. Ollivander, clapping his hands as a rose sprouted on his desk and cobwebs dissipated from the top wand boxes. "This one's obviously for you!"_

 _After James had put down the wand and some of the excitement had died down, Ollivander had stood in front of James, silver eyes peering into James' chocolate brown ones._

" _Dogwood? What does this say about you, Mr. Potter?"_

" _I… I'm not su… I really don't know, sir."_

" _Well, dogwood wands tend to have a bit of a playful nature, you see. The owner that they pick are usually kind and mischievous. They like to have fun, and the wand will assist them in that."_

 _Harry laughed behind James._

" _I sure hope that you don't turn out too much of a troublemaker, James."_

" _Oh, Mr. Potter!"_

 _Ollivander turned his attention towards James' father._

" _How is your wand doing? Eleven inches, holly wood, phoenix feather core, nice and supple, if my memory doesn't fail me."_

 _Mr. Ollivander leaned towards James, whispering conspiratorially._

" _He's performed some extremely_ powerful _magic with that wand, you know."_

 _Harry's smile faltered just a little bit, but then he grinned as bright as ever, a bit of ruddy hue coming into his cheeks._

" _Oh, come now, Mr. Ollivander! Let's not bore James with tales of the past! He's got his own story to make now, right, James?"_

 _James looked uncertainly at Harry's way-too-happy attitude._

" _Ooooookaaaay, Dad."_

 _Harry handed over the Galleons, and they said their goodbyes to old Ollivander_

" _Goodbye, Mr. Potters'. I am glad to see the third generation come by my shop. If he's anything like his family, he'll be very,_ very _adventurous. Allons-y!"_

* * *

James was thinking of the wood that his wand was made of. Ollivander had said that it was dogwood, and it was a very funny wood that chose equally hilarious masters. James knew that it was the perfect wand for him; he considered himself a very mischievous person by nature and he thought that he was funny. He liked going on adventures and sneaking around in different rooms with his little brother and taking things that he wasn't suppos-

 _Wait._

 _Taking things he wasn't supposed to?!_

He suddenly remembered a sunny day, a few years ago, when he had been on the hunt for sweets. _I must've forgotten about it… what was_ it _?_

James tried as hard as he could to think back to that day. He clearly remembered the picnic, playing with Al and Rose, watching little Hugo and Rose stumble around the trees. He hadn't forgotten watching his mum, dad, and Uncle Ron zoom around the field, and watching Aunt Mione create fantastical ribbons and lights with her wand at the end of the day.

No, he had forgotten when he had been…

" _-poking around in Dad's study,"_ he breathed aloud.

Now he recalled the day: he could see himself getting the sweets and and getting the _piece of parchment_.

James, excited by his rediscovery, dug around in the floorboards under his bed until he found the loose one. He pulled it aside…

And there it sat.

The piece of parchment that had drawn James to it all those years ago lay under the floor. It hadn't changed since the last time that he saw it-in fact, the paper seemed to have gotten cleaner and smoother over time.

 _Gee, Teddy's face could use the same cleaning,_ thought James, rather maliciously.

James decided that he was going to discover exactly what was so special about the parchment. He grabbed his wand from the bedspread and lay on his stomach, examining the piece of parchment on the floor.

He wasn't stupid-James knew that wands held an immense amount of power. So instead of using a quill to write on the surface, he tapped the middle of the parchment with his wand and said, "My name is James Potter."

Nothing happened.

He tried again, this time using a more forceful tone.

"My name is James Sirius Potter!"

For a little bit, no change appeared on the surface. Just as James began to doze off, he saw a black script forming- _by itself-_ on the parchment.

 _Messr. Prongs would like to offer his confusion to Mr. Potter, for he has heard that name before, and it belonged to a very handsome fellow, who was not_ this " _Mr. Potter"_

 _Messr. Padfoot would also like to follow in Messr. Prongs' footsteps and also express his concern for Mr. Potter's sanity, because that name has only been heard twice before._

 _Messr. Wormtail wonders what he has gotten himself into._

 _Messr. Moony adds that he hasn't seen this face in_ years _._

The writing stopped, as if that was all it had to say for now, and then disappeared.

James was now extremely worried as to why these Messrs. were confused. He kept the tip of the wand pointing at the parchment.

"What's in here?"

 _Ah! Messr. Prongs, unfortunately, cannot reveal the contents of this parchment to Mr. Potter._

 _Messr. Wormtail can see the trouble brewing inside of this Mr. Potter, much like his fath-_

Here, the writing cut off, until-

 _Messr. Padfoot has just hit Messr. Wormtail around the head, for Messr. Padfoot worries that Messr. Wormtail will give away too much to Mr. Potter._

 _Messr. Moony would also like to say that he wonders how young Potter has gotten this piece of parchment._

Excitedly, he whispered, "I grabbed from my Dad's desk! What are you guys called?"

 _We've got competition, Messr. Padfoot!_

 _Messr. Prongs, you are_ so _right in saying that._

 _Messr. Wormtail and Messr. Moony would like to answer Mr. Potter's question. We are called:_

 _ **THE MARAUDERS.**_

Here, the writing became large, curling, and bold.

"The Marauders, eh? There must be something special about you guys! Please tell me, sirs, what's in here?"

 _We will not reveal our secrets, Mr. Potter._

 _Not without managing a little mischief._

 _One might even say that we are up to no good._

 _Maybe they'd swear it solemnly._

James sat up, almost completely certain that the map was trying to tell him something.

"Do I need to say a certain phrase? Like a secret passcode or something?"

 _Use the words._

"All right," James muttered uncertainly, scanning the Marauders' words, trying to find anything that stood out to him.

 _ **Managing. Mischief.**_

 _ **Up to no good.**_

 _ **Swear. Solemnly**_

James bit his lip in concentration. He'd never been fond of puzzles: that was Al and Lily's thing.

But when it came to magical pieces of parchment that wrote to him?

 _Any puzzle, any day._

He reached up to his bedside table for a leftover Chocolate Cauldron Cake from Diagon Alley. Chewing it thoughtfully, he re-read the words a third time.

"Okay," he said. "I'm gonna try and open you up."

"I'm up to no good!"

Nothing happened.

 _Well, that didn't work,_ thought James, rather unnecessarily.

"I'm up to mischief!"

Again, the parchment lay perfectly still.

James tried a different version of the phrase.

"I swear that I'm managing mischief!"

James tried again and again, but to absolutely no avail. The parchment (and whatever was contained within it) simply wouldn't budge. He had managed to eat three cakes and was brushing off the crumbs as he tried another combination of words.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to mischief!"

Almost completely sure that he had hit the right chord with the Marauders, he moved back and sat on his feet, knees slightly imprinted from the floorboards. Inhaling slightly, he watched as the now-familiar black script curled itself across the page, inscribing four clear words.

 _So close, Mr. Potter._

"Damn," said James. He knew that he usually wasn't allowed to say that, but he didn't care right now. He was struggling to come up with any more sentences that would work.

Only one was left now, and it was one that he had tucked away in his head as he went through varied utterances.

Tapping the sheet with the dogwood wand, he practically shouted as he said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

Slowly, like fractures in glass, lines of ink spread out from where James' wand prodded it.

"Success!" grinned James as he held up _**The Marauder's Map,**_ as the title claimed, and pored every centimeter of it.


End file.
